


Huddled

by AngelofDarkness1605



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:59:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4706876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelofDarkness1605/pseuds/AngelofDarkness1605
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mr. Gold is hosting a party to celebrate Neal's thirtieth birthday. In the middle of the night, his son’s friend Belle French seeks a warm and peaceful place to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Huddled

Mr. Gold wakens by the door of his bedroom being pushed open, the hinges creaking despite the obvious carefulness of the intruder. Instantly alert, he hasn't forgotten that his son, his girlfriend and several of his friends are staying over in celebration of Neal's thirtieth birthday... but that doesn't explain why someone is entering his bedroom in the middle of the night.

He tenses when the light of the cell phone that the intruder carries reveals that Belle French is the one who is invading one of the few rooms in the house that hasn't been taken over in one way or another by his guests... especially so because the glow of the screen gives her hair and face a yet more ethereal look.

The pawnbroker doesn't dare consider that the rather bright artificial light also makes the excuse of a nightgown which she turns out to be wearing practically see-through, quickly averting his gaze.

“Miss French?!” he inquires, his words hoarse from sleep.

She cries out in shock, almost dropping the phone as she folds a protective arm over her chest.

“Mr. Gold, is that you?!” she asks in response, her voice trembling.

“Yes. May I ask what you are doing here?”

“I'm so sorry, I didn't know you are sleeping here,” she says, already backing out of the room. “I... I'll just try another room. Sorry for disturbing you!”

“Miss French!” he exclaims, his shock turning into worry. “Are you all right? Is your own room not sufficient?”

“The room you gave me is lovely, thank you, but...”

“But what?” he asks, sitting up in bed and rubbing the last sleep from his eyes.

“My room is next to Neal's and Emma's on one side, and next to Ruby's and Peter's at the other.”

“I know,” he says, not understanding the significance of that.

“They're... well,  _loud_.”

If it weren't for the edge of discomfort in her voice, it wouldn't have registered in his thick skull that she isn't referring to the couples in the rooms next to hers as  _talking_ or even snoring loudly.

Mr. Gold grimaces at the discovery what exactly most of his guests, his son included, are up to. Tempting as it is however to conclude that he  _really_ shouldn't have allowed Neal to let his girlfriend and his friends from New York stay in his house, he knows that his son wouldn't have returned to the countryside for a few days at all if he would have had to come alone.

“I really didn't want to hear all of that, but they kept going on and  _on._ I didn't want to disturb them either, but I could still hear them clearly even when listening to music on my phone. Then I remembered that you said that the master bedroom and one additional guest room are on this side of the house when you gave us the tour this morning.”

“I'm afraid there's no other room available,” he says, inwardly cursing himself for not making this clear when he showed Neal and his guests around the house. “I always sleep here. The master bedroom is hardly more than a storage room... without a bed.”

“Why?” she asks, tilting her head in confusion and scrunching her nose in that way he shouldn't find so lovely.

“Bad memories,” he replies tensely, only by decades of practice managing not to immediately think back on the humiliation and bitterness of his marriage and his ex wife.

“I'm very sorry to hear that,” she says quietly, sounding more sincere and empathic than his former significant other ever had, even in the less bad days of their marriage.

“It's a long time ago,” he replies, hoping that the intuitive young woman won't sense that the aftermath of his failed marriage haunts him to this very day.

“I won't disturb you any longer,” she says, but he isn't grateful for this particular change in topic. “I'll just get back to my own room. I suppose they'll have to be done at  _some_ point. But before I go, can you please give me some directions? I got lost twice before I got here.”

“Please forgive me for saying so, but I don't think you're in a condition to go back, especially not on your own,” he says, to his horror noticing that she's shaking, no doubt from the cold.

Finally having the presence of mind to switch the lamp on his nightstand on, he mutters quiet words of warning just before he does so, very much aware that she's startled by the new source of light regardless.

Without thinking about it twice, Mr. Gold gets out of bed and takes his nightgown from where it was spread over his blankets for additional warmth on this particularly cold winter night.

In his urgency to hand her something to protect her against the cold, he forgets about his cane. It's both a concern and a shameful relief that she doesn't appear to notice the difficulty with which he heads towards her while she puts her phone on the cabinet by the door.

The air in his bedroom – with the heater at its highest capacity – is unpleasantly cold. He's afraid to imagine what it must be like for her, especially after trying to find her way through his ridiculously large house for who knows how long.

“Didn't Neal tell you to dress warmly?” he asks quietly. “This house is old and impossible to heat properly, especially on this floor.”

“He did tell me. I packed my warmest pajamas, but Ruby pranked me. She switched them for this nightie. I only noticed when I unpacked my bag this evening,” she explains, gesturing at the barely-there fabric she's currently wearing. “She got me this for my birthday last year and she's upset that I never wear it, but... well, let's just say that I don't have much use to wear anything like this. Needless to say, I would have changed back into my day clothes had I known that it would be so difficult to find a spare, quiet bedroom.”

When the pawnbroker has finally reached her, she accepts the nightgown he offers her with a grateful little smile, immediately wrapping it around her.

Mr. Gold firmly doesn’t allow himself to even  _think_ to offer to embrace her, to share his suddenly considerable body heat with her. It might warm her up, but it'll do her only more harm than good by upsetting her with his nearness.

She’s still shivering though, even as he awkwardly stands at her side for a while, pointedly not looking at her but not knowing what else to do.

“I’m going to stand on the carpet next to your bed for a while, if you don’t mind,” she says, bringing his attention back to her. “The wooden floor is quite cold.”

Risking a glance downwards, he finally sees that her feet - her small, lovely feet - are bare.

“You shouldn’t be out in the cold like this,” he remarks, starting to quiver himself despite the sudden, unwanted heat spreading throughout him. “I can draw you a hot bath if you like, or…”

“No, please don’t trouble yourself on my account. I just want to go to sleep.”

“I could put a mattress and blankets for you in the master bedroom, but it’s probably very dusty and there’s barely any place between the stored furniture.”

“Really, it’s all right. It’s just… can I stay here for half an hour or so before I go back to my own room? I suppose it’ll be quiet again by then and it's warmer here than in the corridors.”

“That’s perfectly all right with me.”

“Thank you,” she says, sounding thoroughly relieved. He dreads to think what exactly she may have heard in her own room.

“I’ll get you some blankets to cover yourself,” he says, heading for the cabinet on the other side of the room.

Having forgotten that he doesn’t have his cane with him, the pawnbroker would have stumbled if it weren’t for the arm she flings around his waist, supporting his weight while he struggles to regain his balance.

“Thank you,” he mutters once he is standing somewhat stable, only more disoriented now that he’s suddenly so close to her, her side pressed firmly against his and her curls tickling his face.

“Please, Mr. Gold, just go back to bed. I’ll just sit down somewhere. I won’t be nearly as cold now that I’m wearing your nightgown.”

It’s a good thing that she doesn’t let go of him, instead helping him back towards his bed, for the question whether it would be a very good or a very bad idea to offer  _her_ to get into his bed only distracts him further.

She must have sensed his concern, for she halts when they are in front of the bed.

“I'd be warmer if I get between the covers as well.”

She looks at him as if she would actually  _like_ that. It doesn’t surprise him to some extent, for there’s no doubt in his mind that she’s still more cold than she likes him to think, but he hardly thinks that it’ll make her feel better to warm up in the bed, for the simple reason that it is  _his_.

“You’re very welcome to do whatever you like, Miss French,” he says after a brief moment of hesitation. After all, if there’s something he has learned during the time he had the pleasure of spending with her today, it’s that no one decides her fate but her.

“I’d love to be warm and comfortable here for a while,” she beams, gesturing enthusiastically at his thick blankets. “If you really don’t mind…”

“ _I_ really don’t mind.”

And that’s how the by far loveliest woman he has ever known unceremoniously slips into his bed, settling herself on one of his pillows on the far edge of the mattress.

That leaves him with the question where he is going to stay himself until she returns to her own room, to make her feel as secure as possible. It’s doubtlessly for the best to seat himself on the chair on the opposite side of the room, where his clothes for the next day are lying neatly folded. It’ll be chilly there, no doubt, but just watching her lie in his bed like she belongs there will keep him warmer than he could ever hope to be in his old, lonely house.

“Where are you going?” she asks, peering at him from beneath the blankets.

“I’m just going to sit here until you are returning to your room,” he says, gesturing at the chair he has almost reached.

“You’ll catch a cold there!” she cries out, as if that notion is upsetting to her. “If you don’t want to be in the same bed with me for a while, I’m going back to my own room right now.”

His mouth opens, but he has no idea which words to use to tell her that it’s not his own discomfort that he’s concerned about.

“Into bed with you, Mr. Gold. Your  _own_ bed. I’ll leave if you want me to, but I’m not stealing your bed from you.”

He heads back to bed, where the young woman pointedly pulls back the blankets, leaving no mistake that she wants him to go  _into_ the bed, under the warm covers, rather than sitting on them at the edge like he intended to.

That’s how Mr. Gold finds himself lying down next to a woman for the first since before his son was born, under her stern gaze knowing better than to still until he’s comfortably lying down with his head on the pillow and the blankets covering him up to his chin, facing her.

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you earlier, but I enjoyed myself very much tonight. I’m glad that I ran into you after dinner,” she says, her face illuminated by the light on his nightstand.

“So am I. I had a very enjoyable evening as well.”

Before the past evening he didn’t think he could relax and, indeed, enjoy himself the way he did for several hours thanks to her.

The landlord most certainly hadn’t expected any of that when she wandered into the kitchen for a cup of tea, right where he had sought refuge to repair an antique watch while her peers were drinking themselves under the table in his living room.

He had told her about the process of returning the watch back to its former glory while he made her tea. By the time both of them had a steaming cup of chamomile in their hands, neither felt like going back to their former occupations. That’s how they found themselves talking about literature and antiques, and a bit about themselves, drinking cup after cup of tea and enjoying some biscuits he got from the pantry.

“I had my doubts about going on this trip,” she admits, which doesn't surprise him. Mr. Gold won't pretend to actually know her, but it seems to him that she has little in common with the people with whom she came here. “But I'm very glad that I went and that I got to know you. You're... well, you're not like I imagined you.”

“Neal isn't very fond of me,” he sighs, realizing what she's referring to.

“He doesn't speak much of you, but when he does... well, it's a good reminder that one should always known both sides of the story. I mean, it's not like I truly know either side of your history, but you're not nearly as dark as I would have thought, given the few things I've heard about you.”

“I've made bad decisions in the past,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “My son probably thinks I'm still doing so. I love him more than anything else in the world and I try to be the best father I can be, but it clearly isn't enough.”

“I wouldn't say that, Mr. Gold. From what I see, things are changing. I've known Neal for only a few years, but the fact that he agreed to spend the weekend here for his birthday... the man I got to know when he got together with my friend Emma wouldn't have done that.”

“I know, yes. I'm very grateful that he wanted to come here... and that he brought the four of you.”

“It must be quite a shock to you, to suddenly have so many people in your house... and most of them not nearly as quiet as you. It must be very different from your usual life.”

“It is, yes. And although I will certainly miss my son and... some of you when you leave tomorrow, I must admit that I'm looking forward to having my house to myself again.”

That's only partially true, but he can't just tell her that, other than his son of course, she is the only one who he is going to miss... that his dream of being fully invited back into Neal's life has expanded to include having an actual relationship with the woman currently lying calmly at his side, conversing with him in a way no one else ever has.

“Doesn't it get lonely, to be here in this large house by yourself, year after year?”

“It does, sometimes,” he admits, “but it's for the best.”

“You think it's for the best for you to live here all on your own?”

“I do, yes.”

“How can you say that?!”

“It's quite simple, really. Neal has a life and future of his own, and he's got Emma. As for me, having a... significant other again... well, I think I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Mr. Gold, I... It's fine if you  _want_ to be alone, of course, but you don't come across to me like that. Please don’t take offense, but it seems to me that you’ve learned the lesson you refer to rather too well. Neal says you haven’t been with anyone since you and his mother divorced. According to him that's almost three decades ago!”

“There was someone, briefly, a long time ago.”

“It didn’t work out?” she inquires quietly.

“That's an understatement,” he replies, knowing very well that he and Cora brought out the worst in each other… that he can only be happy with a woman like… well, best not to go there.  _At all._ Especially not when that woman is still here, in his  _bed_ , not knowing that she is the only one he would love to share his life with. _“_ But it was for the best.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way, Mr. Gold. I think you shouldn't rule out a romantic relationship like that.”

The pawnbroker is very grateful to say the least when she yawns at that very moment, covering her mouth with her hand before she can say something that might convince him to share something which he in all likelihood will thoroughly regret later.

“I should probably go back to my own room, before I fall asleep here like this,” she says, looking intently at him.

“You don't have to go, if you don't want to,” he says carefully.

He won't have her in his life like he would like so very much, but he might have  _this_ , a single night of sleeping side by side to her in the bed where he hasn't failed to spent a single night all on his own in the past three decades.

“Don't you mind if I spend the night here? I'd love to stay, but I'll leave right now if you prefer that.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he replies, hoping that his voice doesn’t betray just how much he hopes that she won't leave. “Feel very free to stay right here.”

“In that case, I’m not going anywhere,” she says, her tone inexplainably content and sleepy.

Mr. Gold may feel infinitely more at ease with her than with anyone else, even in the quiet intimacy of his bedroom, but that doesn’t meant that he isn’t awfully nervous at the prospect of sleeping at her side.

After all, he is very good at accidentally ruining things that are important to him, and he dreads to think of everything that can go wrong if they were to, in a way, spend the night together.

But there's a gentle smile on her lips, and a hint of nervousness on her face that could have been his own. When she shifts slightly closer to him, leaving mere inches between them, there's no more room for worry, only for  _being_ and enjoying whatever is going on exactly.

Smelling the mint on her breath, he is mesmerized by how she truly seems to be perfectly at ease with being in his bed… with being with  _him_ , in a way.

“Mr. Gold, I'd like to ask you something. Please feel  _very_ free to tell me if you don't want to grant my request, if you are remotely uncomfortable with it.”

“What do you want to ask?” he inquires, nervous yet intrigued, when she falters.

“Would you mind spooning me tonight?”

“Spooning?” he repeats, not understanding.

“To hold me when I sleep,” she clarifies, the blush appearing on her cheeks confusing him only further, if in a whole different way than a few seconds ago. “With my back against your chest and your arm around me.”

“Why would you want that?” he blurts out, not seeing at all why she would want to bestow such an honor on him of all people.

“I've never been held like that,” she explains, reaching for him. Both to his relief and disappointment, she falters before she touches him, lying her hand down on the mattress between them instead. “The difference in height between my ex and I was too much and he wasn't one for cuddling... besides, I don't want anyone like  _him_ to hold me like that.”

“Why  _me_?” he rasps, if anything yet more bewildered.

“Because I like you very much,” she simply says, her hand reaching him after all, caressing his cheek in a way that has his eyes fluttering closed. “I think it would be wonderful to be held by you like that, and not just because you have the perfect height.”

It would be the very first time in his life that his short stature would be good for anything, but it would be completely worth it indeed if his limited posture would lead to yet more closeness to this incredibly lovely woman.

“I'm not asking you if you don't want to do it, of course!” she adds after a while. “I don't want you to consider doing this only to indulge me.”

Only then the landlord realizes that he hasn't shared his enthusiasm with her, that his awed silence probably tells her the exact opposite of what he actually meant to say.

“I'd love to hold you like that,” he replies at last, hoping that his tone doesn't reveal the true extent of his eagerness.

Just like that, Belle turns around. Although he considers it a loss that he can't see her beautiful face any longer, the situation as a whole gets better than ever before when she gradually scoots backwards, until their bodies touch.

It takes some careful shifting and quietly muttered suggestions, but then he holds the woman he has shared such an extraordinary evening with in his arms. Her back pressing lightly against his chest and her dark tresses brushing his face, Mr. Gold has found an intimacy that his ex wife and he never shared, especially so when she covers his hand with her own while it rests lightly on her stomach.

It's also a closeness which he would very much like to experience far beyond this night, but that's not a thought he allows himself to dwell on. Belle French has given him a magnificent gift and he won't taint it by wishing for more.

Holding her against him and breathing in her scent, Mr. Gold for once tries to live as much in the moment as he possibly can, attempting to savor the smallest of details of their embrace, to bask in her warmth and softness.

“This is nice,” he says after a while, wanting her to know to some extent that he's enjoying this.

“It is, isn't it?” she says dreamily.

Mesmerized that she is so calm, so  _content_ , while lying in his arms, the landlord himself gradually allows himself to relax as well.

“Will you be there tomorrow morning?” she asks, sounding like she's about to fall asleep. “When I wake up?”

“I will be,” he promises, sensing that her suggestion is as much an invitation as a request.

“Wonderful,” she mutters, just before her breath evens out.

Very glad that he hasn't turned off the lamp on his nightstand, he beholds the woman right next to him with unconcealed awe. More awake than he has been for a long time, he decides to keep his eyes open for as long as he can, to enjoy as much of this waking dream as possible... and to think of a way to spend more time with her.

Mr. Gold doesn't quite know yet how he might arrange a meeting for just the two of them, but he got the distinct impression that he  _will_. All thanks to her, he's got the strong feeling that his future will not be nearly as bleak as his past.


End file.
